


Dance of Death

by Kantayra of Yore (Kantayra)



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-08-01
Updated: 2004-08-01
Packaged: 2017-10-19 04:01:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/196637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kantayra/pseuds/Kantayra%20of%20Yore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Nikki saw him that evening, she knew it was a choice between death and desire. And, that night, she chose desire... A dark PWP, set in 1980.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dance of Death

Their first encounter had been the night before. Nothing more than barbs and a few punches. It had been about testing boundaries, setting the rhythm to their dance, the pulsing beat of blood and desire and death. And, when he’d gotten a good first glimpse, he’d retreated back into the shadows outside the nightclub.

Nikki had run after him, leather duster fanning out behind her, blood thrumming, eyes wild and furious as a charging bull’s. He’d escaped by then, though, and somewhere deep in the back of her mind she couldn’t help but wonder if he was looking at her from the shadows, contemplating. It had sent shivers down her spine.

That had been their first encounter.

Tonight, he had come to try to break her down, and she knew it. Her nostrils flared at the sight of him lounging insouciantly against a lamppost. He grinned back, features human and perfect in the faded light.

“Haven’t finished our dance yet, luv,” he said, voice so low it was almost a growl. He stepped toward her, chest pale and bare beneath the revealing vest he wore, on display for death and lust all at once.

Her fingers found the stake in her back pocket, but her eyes never left the pale skin over his heart. The Slayer screamed for his death, and the woman... She refused to give the woman much voice beyond, _Damn, how can a body that pale be so fine?_

“Let’s finish it, then.” She whipped out the stake.

He punched.

She dodged. Missed his chest by a hair’s breadth.

“Knew you wanted me,” he teased, giving his hips a little thrust in those too-tight jeans.

She let out an indignant gasp, and her heel struck him across the cheek.

He staggered back, spit blood, and licked it from his fingers. Slowly, sensuously, letting his tongue roll around each digit as if to demonstrate its dexterity. And, all along, those shockingly blue eyes bored into her. Ringed with black eyeliner and amidst that wild platinum hair, he looked like rebellion personified. Wild and liberating, but dangerous at the same time.

She shook her head to clear it. She didn’t need this. A single mother stuck on her own, her life narrowing down day by day into nothing but the kill. She loved Robin, and her calling, but it just wasn’t enough of a life. Not when the excitement she’d once known burned all around her.

His fist struck her squarely in the face, and she cursed herself for letting his tricks distract her. She was the _Slayer_ , dammit! This was no time to be thinking about how much she needed to get some and fast.

“Can smell it, y’know,” he purred in that husky, forbidden voice. “How much you want it, want me.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” she breathed heavily, twirling to face him once more.

He lunged, then, pressing against her one second before her elbow caught him in the throat, driving him back. It was enough for her to feel what he’d been talking about, though. Long and hard and tantalizing against her thigh.

“In your dreams,” she spat angrily.

“Or yours.” On his knees, he looked up at her with those dark-rimmed eyes. The gesture seemed coy and obscene all at once. He cocked his head to one side as he studied her, the gesture innocent and more enticing than it had any right to be.

Infuriated, she struck out at him. But, before she could register what was happening, he’d caught her leg in a powerful grip and used her momentum to throw her back against the pile of crates at the far end of the alley.

She collided with them with a ‘whoosh’, the breath squeezing painfully from her lungs. Before she had time to recover the oxygen, he was upon her from behind.

She struggled and gasped, trying to squirm away. God, he was on top of her, every inch of that hard body pressed into hers, pinning her down.

He, for his part, just seemed to enjoy having a wriggling female body between his legs. His cheek rubbed against her hair, rubbing at the texture both coarse and soft at once. He played with it like he’d found himself a new exciting toy. Or maybe the Slayer part was the new and exciting bit for him…

Nikki stilled when she realized she couldn’t get the leverage to buck him off. And also because her attempts at bucking were having a rather obvious effect on him. She bit back a gasp when he breathed in the scent of her hair and ground his arousal hard against the curve of her ass.

“Still don’t want it?” he whispered against her earlobe.

She shivered. “No.”

“Too bad, baby,” he countered harshly. “’Cause ‘m two things – lust and death – and you just picked the latter.”

She could feel the bones in his face shift against her cheek, and her entire spine tingled, screaming in alarm that those were fangs by her throat now. He leaned in to lick the softest flesh of her throat, his brow ridge brushing against her cheek in the process, and something about that gesture was so incredibly _intimate_ that she froze.

“Wait,” she whispered so softly it could’ve been taken for the wind itself.

Her scent spoke louder than words, however, and a low, satisfied growl rumbled through his chest. He spun her around roughly, so that she lay back on the crate, facing him, seeing what exactly she was about to welcome into her body. His face was human again, but the illusion didn’t hide him from her eyes for an instant.

Lust or death?

A pretty choice, and she’d picked the first this time, clung still to that last fabric of life. It was only a matter of time until that all faded away, however.

Smirk firmly in place, he caught her arms and raised them above her head. Pinned them with one hand while his other pushed up at that short leather skirt of hers. She hissed when he rubbed her through her silken panties, then let out a little yelp when he ripped the cloth barrier off of her with one angry pull.

“Courtin’ death, you are,” he whispered against her cheek, causing her to turn her head away. He chuckled. Still afraid to see the monster she’d chosen.

Nikki shut her eyes tight and tried not to think about what he was. It had been so lonely since Casey had run off and left her to raise Robin by herself. Too lonely and too long, and with the Slayer business on top of everything…

Was it so wrong to just want to _feel_ again?

But, with this creature, it obviously was.

Devil’s fingers slipped inside her, finding her more wet and ready than she ever should’ve been. She clutched at him, gasped, moved for him.

“Naughty li’l Slayer,” he breathed against her.

This just wasn’t fair. She’d fought dozens of vampires – hundreds – and none of them had affected her this way. Mindless killers with hideous demonic features. It had never even occurred to her before that a vampire could be beautiful…

In the back of her mind, she wondered if this was how he had killed her sister Slayer, almost a century ago now. If all his piles of victims over the years had fallen as she had to the wild immortal force within him. Oh, he was lust, indeed. Personified and honed to razor-edged perfection. Was one night with his cold, beautiful shell worth the sacrifice of her own heat, her own fire?

She shivered that the answer seemed to be ‘yes’.

“Like it, doncha, luv?” He removed his fingers from her slick passage, sucked her juices right off of them, tasting her desire. Sweet Slayer exploded on his tongue, filling his body with her strength. “You’ve always wanted to fuck death…”

She struggled at that, at the cruelty of his words and the harshness of his body. The wrist that held her hands above her head was like banded steel, completely unbreakable. For the first time, a little whimper of fear escaped her lips.

“Hush, now,” he said, his voice anything but soothing. “Sometimes death likes to circle in for the kill…” He bent over her once again, and his tongue found her pulse-point, swirling around the source of her life in ever decreasing circles.

It shouldn’t have relaxed her, having a vampire that close. Too close. But she did relax as his tongue pleasured her, as his fingers slipped back into her womb – the very core of her being – and prepared her for him.

Soft waves of pleasure were rolling over her now, and – deep in the back of her mind – she wondered whether this was some sort of thrall. Not with his eyes and words like so many other vampires had tried, but with his hands and his tongue and his body. A sly incubus seducing her for the kill…

The disturbing thought faded, and that in itself should’ve alarmed her. But it didn’t. Eyes still squeezed tightly shut, her hips began to move in time with his fingers, her breath growing harsher, breaking into rhythmic rasps.

“That’s my hot little Slayer…”

And, god, she was hot. His fingers were like ice within her, but this was some magical, supernatural ice that warmed rather than chilled. Every second that passed thrummed into her essence the wrongness of this act. And, the more wrong it got, the more she wanted it. Disgraceful. Shameful. Wonderful…

She hissed when his fingers pulled out of her, knowing what was to come. She forced her eyes shut tighter, as if that would erase her responsibility for this act. _If I can’t see it, I can’t stop it…_

She could hear it, though. Hear the metal teeth of his zipper – as if moving in slow motion – one by one opening up. And then she felt him, skin soft as velvet around reinforced steel, rubbing against her inner thigh, reminding her of how bare and helpless she was before him.

But she wasn’t entirely helpless now. He’d had to release her legs to fit himself between her spread thighs. She could take advantage of that. She was a trained fighter; two quick moves and she’d be free of this demon.

That knowledge made it worse somehow. Because she knew she wasn’t strong enough, that her body was working against her. She _could_ fight him off, but she wouldn’t. This was her choice, her sin. And did the bastard have to drag this out so long, so that she had an eternity to reflect upon the choice she was making?

Angry, wild eyes opened for the first time to look at him.

He rose above her, breathing deeply in time with her, jaw ticking with strain and anticipation, eyelids half shut in a lazy sort of passion. The light behind him lit up his hair, making it softer and whiter than should be possible right then. He looked almost like an angel. A punk angel. Satan’s angel.

It took him a moment to notice she’d finally opened her eyes and, when he did, a wicked smirk lit up his face, increasing the illusion. “Ready for me?” he asked cockily, his gaze flicking for an instant between her thighs.

She looked down and whimpered. He’d nudged her hips up just a bit so that she could see _everything_. Her own body, exposed and vulnerable. Willing and waiting. _Empty_. And it was all too clear that he could fill her. His shaft curved upward, long and proud, appearing oddly silvery in the moonlight. Or maybe it was just a vamp thing. Or a white guy thing. She wasn’t sure. He looked otherworldly to her, though, and her breath caught in her throat.

“No fun if you miss the show,” he teased, his free hand coming up to lazily encircle his erection.

She lay back, unresisting, and watched him guide himself to her opening. Watched her folds part. Watched the thick head vanish inside her. And then, slowly, inch-by-inch the shaft vanished with her as well. Until there was just the root of him surrounded by dark curls that tangled with her own.

Her mind watched it all; her body _felt_. He was large, and she’d only been prepared so much. Her muscles stretched and strained, traitors that gave everything to welcome him within. She felt the void within her fade to nothing as he filled it with his gross parody of life. Oh, this was so perverse, but on some level the Slayer within her craved it as much as the rest of her did.

Her nails sank into his wrist, drawing blood and pain. He didn’t give, of course, but it felt good to give as she got it. He was thrusting rough and fast now, piercing her womb over and over, striking deeper than any man – let alone demon – had any right to go.

She was grunting now, _screaming_ , shrieking her rediscovery of _life_ out to the world. This was pleasure and pain and everything she’d once known. This was ecstasy sharper than any human could’ve given her now.

He was bruising her, pounding into her body, his slim pale hips thrusting vigorously even as her dark smooth calves locked behind his back, pressing into his ass, urging him on. He was so white, so deadly white, but within was one of the darkest creatures this world had to offer. And she was supposed to be the light, but she looked like the night itself with her skin against his, and it was all just too confusing in that moment. And, then, she just didn’t care.

This climax was death. She could feel it as the world exploded in vivid color, as every nerve in her body burned with pleasure, as waves roared in her ears and thundered through her heart. This was the very pinnacle of existence, and from here on in it’d just be one long trip down to death.

And she watched him all throughout the peak, watched his features twist and roar in pleasure, watched his body pump inside her. She could feel the droplets of sweat beating on her face, but he was still cool and pristine and perfect. He was even colder when he shot his seed into her, filling her with his being and dripping into all the cracks inside her, flooding ever deeper until she felt that her soul itself must’ve been tarnished by this demon’s ecstasy.

A final shudder of those beautiful muscles, and then he collapsed upon her, his face buried in the leather of her coat, his fine white hair soft against her cheek.

She knew, then. Even as he slipped from her body and tucked himself back into those skin-tight jeans. Because her lust for him wasn’t slaked – could never be slaked. He was life anew and death all at once. Oh, she’d been weak this time, but one day she’d find her strength and she’d fight every traitorous impulse within her that had let this demon find pleasure in her instead of pain. And, when that day finally came, he’d be death to her.

Angrily, she pushed down her skirt and rose to shaking feet when he let her go. He was several feet back now, as if he knew that in this moment he could lose it all. He needn’t have feared, though. She felt too weak, her womb bruised and battered, her thigh muscles aching from trying to contain his power.

“Ta then, luv.” He licked his front teeth, blew her a kiss, and was gone.

But she had no doubt he’d be back. This night and every night, giving her her nightly choice. Death was on her heels, and it was only a matter of time before she gave into it rather than faced this shame.


End file.
